Musashi - Eiji Yoshikawa [264]
“I didn’t know there was a younger brother.”
“Hardly anyone did, but he’s the better swordsman, according to what I heard. He’s the black sheep of the family. Never shows his face at the school unless he needs money. Spends all his time eating and drinking on his name. Sponges off people who respected his father.”
“They make quite a pair. How did an outstanding man like Yoshioka Kempō wind up with two sons like that?”
“It just goes to show that blood isn’t everything!”
A rōnin was slumped in a stupor next to the oven. He’d been there for quite a while and the proprietor had left him alone, but now he roused him. “Sir, please move back a little,” he said as he put more kindling on the fire. “The fire might burn your kimono.”
Matahachi’s sake-reddened eyes opened slowly. “Mm, mm. I know, 1 know. Just leave me alone.”
This sake shop wasn’t the only place where Matahachi had heard about the bout at the Rendaiji. It was on everyone’s tongue, and the more famous Musashi became, the more wretched his wayward friend felt.
“Hey, bring me another,” he called. “You don’t have to heat it; just pour it in my cup.”
“Are you all right, sir? Your face is awful pale.”
“What’s that to you! It’s my face, isn’t it?”
He leaned against the wall again and folded his arms.
“I’ll show them one of these days.” he thought. “Swordsmanship’s not the only road to success. Whether you get there by being rich, or having a title, or becoming a gangster, so long as you get to the top you’re all right. Musashi and I are both twenty-three. Not many of these fellows who make names for themselves at that age end up amounting to much. By the time they’re thirty, they’re old and tottering—’aging child prodigies.’ “
Word of the duel at the Rendaiji had spread to Osaka, bringing Matahachi immediately to Kyoto. Though he had no clear purpose in mind, Musashi’s triumph weighed so heavily on his spirit that he had to see for himself what the situation was. “He’s riding high now,” thought Matahachi antagonistically, “but he’s due for a fall. There are plenty of good men at the Yoshioka School—the Ten Swordsmen, Denshichirō, lots of others….” He could hardly wait for the day Musashi would receive his comeuppance. In the meantime, his own luck was bound to change.
“Oh, I’m thirsty!” he said aloud. By sliding his back up the wall, he managed to stand. All eyes watched as he bent over a water barrel in the corner, almost dunking his head, and drank several giant gulps from a dipper. Flinging the dipper aside, he pushed back the shop curtain and staggered out.
The proprietor soon recovered from his gaping surprise and ran after the wobbly figure. “Sir, you haven’t paid yet!” he called.
“What’s that?” Matahachi was barely articulate.
“I think you’ve forgotten something, sir.”
“I didn’t forget anything.”
“I mean the money for your sake. Ha, ha!”
“Is that so?”
“Sorry to bother you.”
“I don’t have any money.”
“No money?”
“Yeah, I don’t have any at all. I did until a few days ago, but—”
“You mean you were sitting there drinking— Why, you… you …”
“Shut up!” After fishing around in his kimono, Matahachi came up with the dead samurai’s pillbox, which he flung at the man. “Stop kicking up such a fuss! I’m a samurai with two swords. You see that, don’t you? I haven’t sunk low enough to sneak away without paying. That thing’s worth more than the sake I had. You can keep the change!”
The pillbox struck the man squarely in the face. He squealed with pain and covered his eyes with his hands. The other customers, who had stuck their heads through slits in the shop curtain, shouted in indignation. Like many a drunk, they were indignant at seeing another of their kind welsh on his bill.
“The bastard!”
“Rotten cheat!”
“Let’s teach him a lesson!”
They ran out and surrounded Matahachi.
“Bastard! Pay up!